Page 110 of The Devil's Torment

I thrust my tongue inside her. She gasps at the sudden intrusion, then like a balloon that’s had the air let out of it, she sinks into the couch and moans in satisfaction. I devour her like a man used to eating tripe who’s suddenly been offered caviar, and it can’t be more than twenty seconds before the sweet taste of her squirts into my mouth.

“I love you.” I say the words I never thought I could, with my mouth on her pussy. “I love you so fucking much.”

When she doesn’t say it back, I lift my gaze. Tears are rolling down her cheeks.

“Half-pint, what’s wrong?” I scoot up the couch, taking care not to let my weight settle on her. “Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head.

“Then, what is it? Talk to me.”

“I-I’m… so happy.”

Relief washes over me. I cup her cheeks and kiss her salty lips. “You’ve changed my life, Victoria. You’ve made me feel as though I’m enough. After Mum killed herself, I carried some of the blame of that for years. A deep-rooted belief that if I’d been enough for her, she would have stuck around.”

“You’re more than enough.” She threads her fingers into my hair. “Now take off your pants and let me suck your dick.”

My abdomen pulses with laughter. I lift myself off her and tug down my zipper. “With an offer like that, how can I refuse?”

* * *

Victoria’s hair splays over my chest as we lie naked and spent on the couch, our legs tangled together. I wrap a lock of her hair around my finger.

“I could stay here forever,” she murmurs, stroking my forearm.

“Me, too.” I kiss the top of her head. “You’re okay? Not feeling ill?”

“I feel amazing. The only medicine I need is you, Nicholas. Oh, and enough orgasms to keep a girl satisfied.”

“Think I can manage that.”

She releases a contented sigh and snuggles against me. “That’s a beautiful painting.”

I follow her gaze to a canvas of a rocky cliff with white-tipped waves crashing onto the rocks below.

“My mother painted it. The location is a few hours from here. I’ll take you one day if you like.”

“I’d like. Your mum was incredibly talented.”

“Yeah, she was. Prolific, too. When she first died, Dad displayed her paintings all over the house, but over the years, he’s taken them down. I think it was a comfort to him as he navigated the terrible grief of those early years.”

“She must have been in dreadful pain to do what she did.”

My shoulder pops. “I guess, but so were we.” I sigh. “I don’t feel quite as mad with her now, though, thanks to you.”

“I’m not sure what I did, but I’m glad. It’s hard to stay mad at someone you love so much.”

I think she’s referring to Elizabeth, but the last thing I want is to start up a discussion about her sister. Now,herI can get mad about without any effort whatsoever.

“It’s looking a little faded now. The painting,” I add for context.

“Maybe you could get it restored. It’s so beautiful, it would be a shame not to return it to its former glory.”

“Yeah, perhaps.”

We drift into contented silence, but when Penny starts scratching at the kitchen door, we dress, let her out, and head up on deck to begin the journey back home.

It’s late afternoon when we arrive, the sun almost kissing the horizon. I secure the yacht, but as I take Victoria’s hand and head for the gangplank, I stop.

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